


Human

by lazarus_girl



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “There’s only before Freddie and after Freddie now.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizardwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lizardwriter).



> Future Fic. Set roughly three years after the end of S4. Title and lyrics from ‘Human’ by The Killers.

***

 _Will your system be alright_  
When you dream of home tonight?  
There is no message we're receiving  
Let me know is your heart still beating?  


***

The bus comes to a stop, and you get off as fast as you can, squeezing past the mums with buggies and old ladies with their shopping bags. Effy told you not to rush, and since official visiting time hasn’t even started yet, technically, you shouldn’t be here at all. Despite that, you were first out of your lecture and caught the second bus that stopped outside. You got here for free, since the lad in front of you paid your fare, and gave you a rather cheeky smile before going upstairs. The attention was nice, mostly because you didn’t have to work for it, but mostly because you never expected it either. You’ve seen him out a couple of times at the Student Union, including last night. He’s good-looking; you think when you turn round to see him cross the road, a bit too tall perhaps, and at certain angles he looks a bit like that Bob Dylan bloke Naomi’s always going on about. Now you’ve made the connection, you’re not sure if it’s a good one, but then you remember his Irish accent and it doesn’t matter at all.

You christen him Bob anyway, because it’ll make Effy laugh when you share it with her.

She, like Emily, is determined to play cupid at any opportunity. It’s not that you don’t fancy lads anymore; it’s just that you’ve stopped looking and stopped trying so hard to find perfection. Neither of them seems convinced by that answer, no matter how often you repeat it. Sometimes you think they’re in league, the pair of them, but you don’t really mind either, because it gives Effy something to focus on that’s nothing to do with tablets, group therapy or life goals or anything else they do here.

But then, today is no ordinary day, and it’s why you’re excited, even if Effy’s been a bit more sensible and played it down every time you’ve spoken on the phone. Today could be the last time you visit her as an in-patient of The Riverside Wellness Clinic, because she’s made it to her final evaluation, so it’s up to her team of doctors, Mr Booth, Mr Bailey and Dr Phillips to decide if she’s well enough to go home. She’s gotten to this point three times before, but she’s only lasted a week or two before relapsing, so you’ve learned or tried to learn not to get your hopes up too high. Nothing is certain anymore. If you’re honest, Booth and Bailey scare you, even from the brief glimpses you’ve gotten. They’re both greying, one with a moustache and the other with the neatest hair you’ve ever seen, like one of those old movie stars. Dr Phillips is younger, kinder, always there whenever Anthea, Tony, Jim or even you – you’ve somehow become an honorary Stonem – have had a question. She’s the only one aside from Anna who treats Effy like a person instead of a number, a case, a subject or a puzzle to solve. You’re glad she has someone on her side.

Out of habit, you pause automatically at the gate, peering through the ornate railing to take a moment to look up at the old brick building that’s become so familiar, counting the windows across the top floor until you get to Effy’s room. Six. The curtains are open, but there’s no movement or anyone at the window. It doesn’t worry you, not anymore, because she’s rarely in her room these days, but there was a time when it meant something else entirely. When you’d go in and she’d be in the exact same place you left her, sedated and silent. Or other days, when she was the complete opposite to that, screaming at the top of her lungs, angry at everyone everything, you included, and they’d take her away to another room or the doctors would appear with syringes, and she’d be still again.

She’s come a long way and you’ve been witness to almost all of it. You know how long she’s been here, of course, in terms of years and months, but you’ve stopped counting things like that. Even using the visits are useless, even if they do match up to when she’s better or worse – daily visits in rough times, to support Anthea and Tony, when Jim couldn’t face it anymore; or just one or twice a week at her insistence when she’s doing much better. No, time’s sort of become irrelevant, because it doesn’t seem to go at the same speed as it once did.

There’s only before Freddie and after Freddie now.

You thought that once everyone left, that you’d be left behind, but you’re all bound now, there for each other and you talk more than you ever did. After all, no one else can really understand what you all went through. You’re not jealous that she and Naomi got to travel; or that they went away for university like JJ, Panda and Thomas. It felt right for you to stay in Bristol to study instead, felt natural even. JJ visits Cook in prison, and you visit Effy, here at Riverside, that’s just how it’s turned out. You always manage to find each other, somehow. Even Karen emails you from time to time, from her new place in New York, just to see how you all are, including, lately, Effy.

No matter how long it’s been, you always find each other and meet up when you can. Even though you try not to, on the occasions you’re all together, apart from Cook, Karen and Effy, you end up talking about Freddie anyway. You still find yourselves in the corner of a bar or out by the harbour, just trying make sense of it all, trying to see where things went wrong or if you could’ve changed things. In some ways, the years, the trials and the verdicts have made no difference at all. Guilty or innocent, Freddie’s gone and you’ve all changed in some way because of it.

***

You carry on up the gravel drive; kicking a bit at the loose stones with the toe of your boot, ringing the bell when you get to the top. The orderly, Michael, tall and thin in his crisp white uniform with its neatly embroidered navy blue crest answers with a smile, and waves you inside, slipping the visitors pass on a chain around your neck whilst you sign the book. You don’t have to speak now, even though you’re on first name terms with him, just like everyone else here. Rita the cleaner, never without her multi-coloured feather duster or her huge silver vacuum, who you pass on the stairs with a nod and get a warm smile in return as she sprays and polishes. Anna, Effy’s day nurse, blonde and blue-eyed, who looks more like a model than a nurse, and waves you past before Suzanne, Effy’s night nurse, emerges from a side room with towels. Less inclined to bend the rules, you know there’d be no smile from her anyway.

Effy’s room, 308, is the last on this corridor, and you’ve gotten here on autopilot. You don’t even have to read the tiny gilt numbers on the doors. If you ignore all the uniforms, the trays of medicine and the treatment rooms, you could be some high-class hotel, like the Hilton, The Ritz or The Savoy, because of the plush carpets, the plants and the expensive cream striped wallpaper. It looks like its cost a fortune, and from the look on Anthea’s face every time they get the bill, you know it does. Even so, you can’t help but be swayed by it, to pretend that she’s famous for something or other, an actress or a model perhaps, and you’re coming to see her after winning an award; like an Oscar or something, and she’ll be there, reclining on the bed in last night’s make-up and a dressing gown surrounded by room service, eating fruit like Cleopatra or smoking and looking effortlessly elegant whilst doing it.

OK, so, you admit you’ve been watching too many of those old films late at night with Ben and Jerry’s for company, but you can’t help it, even if you know it’s silly. You like making futures with her, whether you’re talking about silly rubbish like her Oscar-winning performances or actual proper plans for places you can go to when she’s well enough. Either way, it’s a good thing, Dr Phillips says, because it helps Effy think beyond the now and gives her hope. Though you wouldn’t willingly admit it unless forced to, you know she’s right, because it works that way for you too. It lets you forget things in your life you can’t control; lets you feel slightly less guilty about having a life beyond the walls of the hospital. Whenever Effy asks you about uni or your waitressing job at the Italian restaurant nearby, you keep it brief because you don’t want her to feel like she’s missing too much or that she’s being forgotten, because you know all too well how that feels.

Sometimes, it hasn’t mattered what you’ve talked about, because she wasn’t in any fit state to talk back. Even so, you’d carry on, and just sit there for hours, talking away, when the news from home, the postcards from Emily and Naomi or the letters from Pandora ran out, you’d sit there and read Heat magazine, cover to cover, holding her hand, waiting for the slightest sign … of life, of the Effy you once knew. The Effy that was someone you were jealous of because she was clever and mysterious and didn’t have to try, instead of the sad, thin, pale girl who’d taken her over, taken her place, and left her in the neat blue and white bed linen and mint-coloured patient scrubs that made her look like a prisoner instead of a doctor.

It’s been heartbreaking to watch the spark go out of her, and harder still to watch her struggle so hard to get it back. In the worst of it, when the days melded into one, and she barely slept because of the nightmares and neither did you because you were terrified she’d hurt herself, even with the nurses coming in to check. The only break came when Tony or Anthea arrived with coffee to wake you up after you’d finally fallen asleep.

You’ve never cried in front of her, though, regardless of how much it hurt, because that’s always felt like you’re giving up on her; that she’s dead too somehow, and you’d never accept that, even when everyone else was beginning to lose faith. You’ve had to be strong. Outside her room’s a different thing; it’s not so easy. It’s been harder not to break when you know she can’t possibly hear. Then, Anthea’s been the one to hold you, and she’s comforted you whilst you cried together. Other times, it’s been Tony or his girlfriend Michelle, and they’ve had their moments too, before trying to make jokes or tell you stupid little stories about when Effy was younger. Sometimes, those stories set Tony off and he’s had to go and walk round the gardens before he can go in to see her. Most of the time though, you’ve managed to get all the way home before giving in, and your mum’s been there, sat with you on the sofa, telling you everything would be fine, that Effy’s strong or that Freddie wouldn’t want to see you so upset as she brushed your hair like when you were little. It’d be much like what Anthea said, of course, but it always felt truer, just because she’s been the one saying it.

***

Effy has good days and bad days. For her sake, you hope this is a good day.

***

You knock twice, and wait a few seconds before carrying on. The knocks and the time you wait between them are the same as her locker combination at Roundview: 2, 5, 3, 6. It translates as two knocks, wait for five, knock three times more and then wait for six. Either she answers or you start again, whichever comes first. It’s your special code; so she knows it’s you instead of anyone else. Today, you only make it to the five second wait before the door’s open and Effy’s there. A good day. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief, and try to cover it. You’ve seen her like this before, lucid, as Dr Phillips would say, and you know, that it could change suddenly, in the next breath; the next blink, and you’re terrified she’ll be gone again.

“You’re early,” she smiles.

“You’re dressed,” you reply, with some surprise, closing the door.

The curtains are open, her room’s tidy. She looks good, happy, glowing even, but that might just be the sun behind her, haloing her. All you can think is the she looks quite serene, and vaguely European, because her outfit’s got Anthea and Italy written all over it; tailored and neat, in dark denim and pastel, with ballet flats. Her hair’s up, aside from two slightly curled tendrils at the front that make her look a little softer. She looks a world away from what you’ve seen her in for so long. You think, fleetingly, that it’s not a very ‘Effy’ outfit, but then, you realise you don’t know what _is_ anymore.

She raises an eyebrow, “Well, that’s generally the idea, Katie,” she says, sitting down cross-legged on the bed. “It’s daytime.”

“Yeah, I just, didn’t expect you to be so …” you fall silent because you don’t want to use words like ‘normal’ and ‘well’ because Dr Phillips has told you all not to, but now they’re all you can think of.

“Sane?” she supplies, with a tilt of her head. You nod, and she chuckles quietly, before pulling you down next to her, yanking off your bag before you can say anything else.

You let yourself relax and try to put everything to the back of your mind, imagining that it’s just an ordinary visit; that it’s not a visit at all; because it hasn’t been that for a long time now.

“I wasn’t thinking that!”

She shoves you playfully, “Were!”

“Was not!” you shove her back, and she laughs. The excited little peel rings around the room and you laugh too, like you haven’t in ages.

“Were!”

“Not!”

“Were infinity!” she yells, swatting you with one of the cushions behind her.

“Oww!” you shriek, rather dramatically, even though you’re still smiling whilst you clutch at your ear, catching sight of yourself in one of the tiny mirrors embroidered on to the bright orange fabric. A gift from Emily and Naomi’s travels.

“I never knew Katie fucking Fitch was such a baby!” she says, throwing another one in your direction. It misses and hits the door instead.

“You need to work on that aim!”

“Throwing’s forbidden Katherine!” she replies, mimicking Suzanne perfectly, right down to her habit for never shortening anyone’s name. You flinch at it, because you can count the times you’ve been called that on one hand.

“So’s visiting out of hours, _Elizabeth_.”

Effy gasps in faux-shock. The time where that would’ve really set her off is long gone.

She flops back onto the bed. “You’re a bad influence!

“Terrible.”

“They should lock you up!”

“Effy!” you glance over at her, eyes wide.

“You know,” she turns towards you, leaning on her elbow. “I think I liked you better when you were a bitch.”

“Fuck you!” you lift your head, shocked, but still amused.

“See, look,” she jabs a finger at you, “threatening behaviour, I should call the nurse and have you removed!”

You both look at each other and the burst into laugher again, looking up at the ceiling instead of each other until your laughter subsides. Effy reaches across the small gap, and laces her fingers with yours and squeezes your hand tight. It’s then you realise how much missed her; really missed having a friend like this, or, having a friend at all. You wasted so much time hating her; hating each other needlessly, when you could’ve been like this all along.

Maybe, if you’d been her friend instead of her enemy, and Gobblers End never happened, you could’ve helped her sooner. All this could’ve been prevented. It’s not the first time the thought’s crossed your mind, of course, but it’s the first time it’s had any real meaning.

“You’ve gone quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Things,” you shrug.

She snorts, “That’s helpful,” and then, more seriously. “You’re worried about me, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not,” you reply, not looking at her, letting go of her hand.

“You are. You always go quiet when you’re worried.”

Her statement makes you look then, surprised, and then not, because she’s always been observant. You can feel her watching you, like she always has, but its different now, like she’s really seeing you, instead of just looking.

“Thank you, Dr Stonem, insightful as ever!” you reply in a fake posh accent for effect, not wanting to darken the mood.

“My years of training are finally paying off!” she laughs, faux haughtily, playing along, “I’m awfully sorry, Ms Fitch, I’m afraid your time’s up!” she pats your forearm.

Another burst of laughter follows, but it stops abruptly when there’s a knock at the door. You glance at each other, neither wanting to say anything, but knowing what’s coming anyway.

After a moment, Anna pops her head round. “Sorry to break up the party,” she glances over at Effy, “but they’re ready for you, love.”

“OK,” Effy replies, trying to smile, but you know she’s nervous now.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Anna says, flashing you both one of her dazzling smiles, before she disappears again, with a swish of her ponytail, and the door clicks shut.

“It’ll be alright,” you say, hoping you sound confident.

Effy’s hand finds yours quickly, and you grasp it again. She doesn’t say anything back, but squeezes yours in return, just like she used to do when you’d read to her. A signal. It told you she was still there. Somewhere.

She gets up quickly, straightening her clothes out and smoothing her hair before she turns back to you.

“I know,” she nods, as if she’s half telling you and half telling herself. “Don’t worry, I’m fine this time. We won’t be back,” she adds, hovering by the door. She says it with so much conviction it’s getting too hard to doubt her.

When she opens it half way, you stand up too, feeling a bit awkward, because although you thought you were ready for all this, you realise you aren’t. Mostly because you’re not sure what she wants to you do and she looks flustered enough already without you adding to it, so you just stand still, and wait. Like you always have.

“You’ll stay, won’t you?” she sounds small and desperate, and you wonder exactly when you became so important to each other.

Your reply is quick, “Of course I will, whatever happens.”

Picking up your bag, you cross the room stopping a few steps short from where Effy’s standing. She doesn’t say anything for long seconds, and then, she pulls you into a hug, clinging on tight. You hold her just as close, smiling to yourself that you thought to wear heels, so you’re nearly the same height for once.

“Thank you. For everything,” she whispers, when she lets go, kissing you lightly on the cheek.

Before you can say anything, she’s walking down the corridor, with Anna at her side and you’re left there, watching their figures get smaller and smaller. You want to believe that the next time you see them, they’ll be with Anthea, or perhaps Tony; maybe even Jim, because Effy will have been signed off, and you’ll spend the rest of the afternoon together packing up her things and making plans. You want to believe that later on, you’ll be signing your name in the book for the last time, heading out the gates with her, as she pulls her black trolley case behind.

You want it for her more than you’ve wanted anything.


End file.
